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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Paul's Passing

It was 2003, and like so many other grown-up firsts in my life; Finn was my trusty companion, happy to accompany me into a new apartment, just the two of us, finally. Technically, my Lug was a roommate but keeping him company was never work. And, he didn't complain about how grimy I was from from helping hoist boxes into our big kid pad. We both bounded out the door, eager to explore our new neighborhood when I spotted a petite man leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. His saucy smile took up most of his face as he said, "Grrrrrrlllllll, are you my new neighbor?" With a little wiggle of his shoulders and a whole lot of sass; I learned his name was Paul, he had a Pit Bull named Harper and we were going to get along just fine as he crouched down, squealed Finn's name repeatedly and let my Lug smooch him forehead to chin.

Because of Paul, and our other neighbor Brett, that beat-up, crappy apartment became my home for seven years and the man who stood standing in his white tank top and faded blue jean uniform will always be on my short list of amazing people who have brought nothing but joy to my life. Being the nice neighbor that he was, Paul agreed that before he came into the yard with Harper, he would yell out "HELLO!" and I would do the same. Finn's unbelievable uneasiness around other dogs was heightened at that time and I didn't want to put my Lug or Harper in a stressful situation. But, as time went on, Paul and I decided that we were both willing to put in the work to make sure our boys were content around each other so we could freely come and go in the yard. Harper was my first Pit Bull love, he was and still is one of the easiest dogs to get along with. He and Finn spent years hanging out together, taking turns lifting their legs on the same spot, over and over again.

Paul used to make dinner every Sunday night for everyone in the building. He absolutely thrived on making
people happy and my Lug's nose used to twinkle with delight every time I came home from taco night, the smell of frying beef never swirled in my kitchen. I used to tease Paul when he ordered tater tots at lunch or when I opened his cabinets to find eight types of marshmallow filled cereals. But I was always a teensy bit jealous he could eat like a teenager and still have a waistline closer to Scarlett O'Hara's than mine. Paul gave me the security and feeling of family that I missed so much when I moved to Chicago; I knew I could call him any hour of the day and did so many times. Paul would show up at the door with a toolbox in hand or a pair of rubber gloves and a package of frankfurters when I had to take my Lug's temperature in a place I never wanted to go, twice, post-surgery. Paul was honest, when I needed to hear the truth and managed to be there for so many people in this world. He was always telling me stories of yet another friend sleeping on his couch or a new foster dog because someone, anyone uttered the word "help". When Finn had a vestibular attack a few years ago, Paul was at my house 20 minutes after I called him to help me make sure my dizzy Lug could get up and down the stairs upon our return from the emergency room.

I hope I was there for Paul as much as he was there for me. A couple years ago, Paul and I were living much further apart; I was dating a guy I really liked and Paul was dating a guy who really liked him. Both our businesses were growing. He cancelled lunch plans one week then I cancelled coffee the next week.Then a year went by and another.

I had thought about calling Paul a hundred times when I passed through his neighborhood but became sidetracked when my phone rang. I kept meaning to tell him that I wrote about he and Harper; mostly as an excuse to say hi and see how they both were doing. Oh, I just know Paul would have loved Lil' Big Head. Now I never can talk to my dear friend, who I lost touch with, because he passed away last week. Shocked, shaken and regretful, I started looking through his Facebook page and learned that Paul went into the hospital the same day Finn passed away. All of this I keep telling myself as I try to find peace in my heart and grasp never being able to see Paul smile, hear his crazy stories or hug my kind, generous, funny, beautiful friend again.

Paul, if you are up there, please know how sorry I am that I didn't know you were sick and that I was not there for you. There will always be a very special place in my heart for you and your friendship. I am so terribly sorry that we lost touch. I am so fortunate to have shared your light and your love for as many years as I did and I truly hope you rest in peace. Finn and Bentley, please show him the ropes.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Disheveled Duos


Lil' Big Head absolutely loves our agility class. We are a team, tackling obstacles together. I don't care much for competition, which is why I assume I have never excelled in sports. But I love the way Stacey and Janice make the experience about each duo and what the dog CAN do; it makes me so happy to see Lil' Big Head's giant smile when he charges out of the tunnel, he always seems so proud of himself. There is never pressure to perform at a certain level and Gavin has been a stellar study, but more importantly the class is strengthening our bond.

Before class, my mushy little monkey dog was shaking so much from the cold; I was grateful that I taught him to have one favorite spot for business trips. Lil' Big Head has no fur. He wanted to get back inside; under a warm blanket, pronto. I bundled Gavin in one of my jackets for the drive because I could not recall where I had stored the hipster hoodie I bought for him when I was in Oregon over Memorial Day weekend. Lil' Big Head ran through the drills like we had been teammates for years, sometimes it's hard to believe he has only been with me for seven months because he seems so content and cheerful to be by my side.

We were practicing the dog walk and Gavin began running too fast and fell off onto the floor. Unlucky little guy tumbled right onto the spot where a metal gate separate the space between class and daycare. For the first time, I heard Lil' Big Head yelp. And, Gavin sat there, next to the equipment, looking up at me with his big, sad doe eyes. I ran over to comfort him and he leaned into me while I stroked his chest. We all wanted to see if he was ok, so I stepped away from him a tiny bit to see if he would stand and put weight on his leg; Gavin limped as he tried to walk. Luckily, Lil' Big Head shook it off and was moving just fine within a couple of seconds.

The last time I heard my Lug make that godawful sound that tore my soul up inside was the summer of 2011. Finn had a lump on his belly that I lovingly called his nubbin'. My Lug could have been covered head to toe in skin tags, lumps and bumps; I did not care as long as I knew he was not hurting nor were they a sign of something worse. But, because the benign mass was hanging off the lowest point of my Lug's barrel chest and it was growing so fast, one of my favorite veterinarians advised me to have it removed. I hated subjecting my senior dog to anesthesia but we had been carefully monitoring Finn's nubbin; and we knew it would soon become troublesome for him to walk. And, the thought of waiting another year; doing the surgery on an even older Finn helped me decide to move forward at her suggestion. Before I scheduled the appointment, Dr. Berman, who is also a brilliant surgeon, introduced me to the veterinary technician who would be by her side, Finn's side, during the procedure. Seeing this women's face and knowing she cared enough to meet me gave me more comfort but I was a wreck thinking about the upcoming procedure.

When I dropped Finn off at the vet that morning, no breakfast in his stomach which he did not understand or approve as he kept running into the kitchen, then onto his bed with an indignant look; I stared at the sheet of paper every veterinary hospital gives you when you drop your pet off at 8am and started bawling. I knew who the audience was, it was me 11 years prior. I read the words, "if your dog is scheduled for surgery later in the day, be thankful. It means your dog is the youngest and the healthiest". I understood the worries of being a new pet parent to a puppy that was being neutered, and how hard it was to wait all day but my Lug's surgery was scheduled for 9am, did that mean he was the oldest and unhealthiest? The Office Manager had left me a message the day prior that they were out of my business cards but I completely forgot to pass them along as I raced out of there, wearing sunglasses on a dreary day to hide my bulging eyes.

One of the many reasons I love positive training is once Gavin fell off the dog walk; no one, including me, was interested in getting him back on again, we just wanted to re-build his confidence. We had an awesome rest of class, Lil' Big Head's ears flopping in the wind of his own excitement because he chose to continue running through the course. Then, as we were leaving class, the poor dog's dumb mom did not see him hesitate. CRUUUUDDDDDDD! Because, for a second time, in one day, Gavin yelped. Lil' Big Head had paused at the exit and I didn't see it until it was too late and the door caught his tail. Pitiful, considerate, contemplative Lil' Big Head looked at me with the same sad expression he had given me less than an hour prior, but that time it was because of my clumsiness. Thank goodness I had the time to sit in the waiting area and feed Gavin lots of cheese so he has good associations again with the space, and Janice let us get back on the dog walk, one of us on each side of him so he was sure to safely walk up and down the incline. When we got home, all Gavin wanted to do was snuggle and I rubbed his white tuxedo as he fell asleep.

Those few seconds I waited to see if Gavin had stubbed his leg or if it was something serious were awful. There was nothing I could do but wait. And, the hour and a half I waited to hear that Finn was awake was excruciating. Ring, ring, ring. I saw that it was Dr. Berman's hospital and when I answered, it was her. She has the best sing song voice and told me that her "big man" had came through the surgery amazingly well and they confirmed that the lump was completely benign. When I picked Finn up, he was wrapped in a bandage the veterinary technician told me was to relieve the pressure and prevent fluid from creeping into the space where the lump used to be; I was allowed to remove it within a couple of days.

What I thought was an ace bandage turned out to be a giant bandaid and when I went to slowly peel it off Finn's abdomen, my Lug yelped and ran into the bathroom. Poor guy stood, wagging his tail, not wanting to move. I sat on the floor with him for a few minutes so he knew I understood and he smothered my face with his awesome slobbery kisses. I pulled the olive oil off the shelf, a bag of cotton balls out of the drawer and called Finn to his bed. Once I realized just how much oil it was going to take to grease up my Lug, I searched for the coconut oil so he would not smell like salad dressing. And, for two hours I coated teeny tiny areas of adhesive over and over again with oily cotton balls so the band-aid glided right off Finn's fur with ease and not a lick of pain. Finn took turns giving me kisses and slurping on his bone. Cream cheese specs on my nose and the smell of the tropics permeating my living room will always remind me of Finn. And, I hope I don't have to hear Lil' Big Head yelp again for a very, very long time.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Bumps in the Night

My body instinctively shot straight into the air, I thought my heart was going to thrash out of my chest. Gavin remained undisturbed in dreamland as he rolled over, hummed and murmured. Lil' Big Head only moved because he was nestled in the crook of my knees when I jumped. The crash that woke me was so intense and I was terrified as I tentatively opened the hideous gold-plated doorknob to my bedroom.

It has been less time than not that I keep my door shut at night; a bizarre feeling overcomes me still when I actually turn the knob to enter my living room. Despite my attempts to help Finn into my bed or reward him for going to one of his own beds in my room; my Lug preferred sleeping in the living room at night, always in a place he could see me. After we moved into Kate's, Finn slept in the bedroom with me again so I can only deduce he wanted more space to stretch out his old dude limbs. I believe in allowing senior dogs to maneuver in their own ways and pace. Gray faced pups with stiff legs and changing bodies deserve and have more than earned the right to find the comfiest, most relaxing spot to sleep, and walk only when they want. Right now, I am painfully trudging through the book, The Last Walk, a read I was desperate to get my hands on last Fall but it had not yet been released. Some of Pierce's entries make my stomach do somersaults but the science behind human-animal bonds and grieving seems to keep my interest. My heart breaks when she talks about her elderly dog Ody hiding all day; "making" the old dog go for walks then watching him fall over and over again; and the poor senior Vizsla getting stuck under the trampoline and lost, repeatedly. I hope Ody is not as miserable as I interpret her words and with every chapter I ingest; I look up and wonder if Finn knows how I hard I tried to do right by him, especially when he was my merry old man.

As I walked into my living room, still no Gavin behind me to protect me; I saw that a latch had broken in one of my windows. No harm, no glass and no burglar; thankfully. When I crawled back into bed, Lil' Big Head stretched and spun in three circles, like he always does and fell back into a deep sleep as close to me as he could. My adrenaline was still buzzing so I wondered as I tried to fall back to sleep, if Gavin would instinctively protect me if it was necessary.

I have always operated on the assumption that yes, a dog who lives with and loves me everyday would fight along with me if there was a serious threat to either of us. Finn met so many people over the years and wagged his tail or kissed every single one. But, one afternoon, there was a man walking down an alley behind us and the fur on my Lug's back stood straight up as he leaned forward and let off a deep, haunting growl. As the man's footsteps grew further and further away, Finn remained still, his feet in the ground, refusing to walk with me. My Lug never growled at another person again so when Finn finally moved along, I figured that he sensed something in that guy I did not see.

It gave me such peace when just the two of us travelled together that I could rely on my Lug to protect us or scare off someone who heard his deep, hearty bark. Gavin has barked a total of five times since he has been with me and it's a scraggly, weeny kind of bark that provokes pitiful laughter more than fear. After a long drive home from North Carolina, I decided to splurge on a bed and breakfast in downtown Louisville. For some reason, the teeny, tiny woman who rented the place to me, gave me the creeps; and Finn and I were the only guests in the big, breezy house. I slept like a log on the comfiest bed I have ever laid on that night because I always felt so secure with my Lug by my side. I hope my Finn felt the same with me and Gavin will always know I have his back.

But, despite being sweet, smart, fun boy dogs; Gavin and Finn could not be more different. I am a ridiculous klutz and every single time I stubbed my toe on my dresser or broke a coffee cup; I would hear my Lug's paws racing along the hardwood floor as fast as he could. Then I would see his droopy lips, perked ears and sweet, milk-chocolate brown eyes standing over me with his "You okay?" look. Finn could be so serious when he knew he was needed. Once my Lug assured everything was in order, every muscle in his body relaxed as he bounced back to one of his many favorite sleeping spots or whatever was left of a bully stick.

Dear, lovable Gavin very much likes his beauty rest, if he is not playing. I was cleaning the kitchen last
weekend and dropped a ceramic lid on the floor. I stopped myself on the way to the broom because I was curious; and when I looked around the corner, Gavin continued to lay on his back, warbling. He was completely passed out. Glad to know Lil' Big Head feels safe in my house.

The first three months with Gavin were laborious. I often looked at him, clueless and confused as to what he was thinking or needed. And, I could see by his eyes, he was thinking, "Lady, I don't know what the heck you want either". I was trying too hard to figure out how to keep Finn in my heart and love Gavin the way he deserves, simultaneously. It might just be time together or perhaps I know more now what Lil' Big Head needs; but I feel like he and I are in such an amiable, beautiful place. Gavin still goes to dog camp once a week. He just loves romping with other pooches so much; I want him to have that joy, not just tire him out, which was the original goal. Usually, on camp day, Gavin waits by the door for Steve to come pick him up. But this week, Lil' Big Head kept hopping back onto the couch with me while I responded to client emails. It was very sweet and once he was wearing his collar and leash, he galloped through the doorway with anticipation.

One of the main reasons I chose a place on the third floor was the frequency I saw drunks staring at my first floor bedroom window near Wrigleyville. Every time Finn and I sat, resting, on the stairs together; I reminded myself that I chose my home for the safety of both he and I. And, when regrets creep in, I hold on to the belief that seeing dogs so infrequently in our current neighborhood and spending the majority of our time strolling through parks, on grass rather than the sidewalk; kept my Lug stress-free and kicky as long as it did. When I go to sleep at night now, next to my perfect little lump of a snuggler; I keep my mace handy just in case something does go bump in the night.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

October 8th

It was 8:30am and it took all the strength I had when I picked up the phone, not to sob or seem as desperate as I felt. Finn had tripped walking up the stairs and started to twist and tumble backwards. I could see the panic in his eyes as I tried to catch him. Grabbing my Lug's chest; I felt the burning in my ankle as it rolled on the step and we both started to fall. Luckily I was able to grab the railing and stable both Finn and I. My heart was racing and I looked at Finn who was also trying to figure out what had just happened; knowing that we could have both been severely marred. As each ring blared in my ear; I wondered what I would do if Kate had changed her mind about her offer to live in her basement. I was out of other options, medications, herbs and therapies. She was my only hope but I could not bear to put that burden on her.

From the book, Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman, on October 8th: "In our sadness and despair, can we act and think as though faith is an accurate mirror of truth; that there is, out there in the darkness, a hand that reaches out to us in compassion and love?"

Ten minutes later, I was packing up Finn's medications, his dog bed, calming music and his Thundershirt. And, once I made sure I had all of my Lug's things; I nabbed my Keurig so we could be ready later that night to move, once he had a chance to rest. I did not know if the arrangement would work. Either of Kate's dogs might have been stressed having a dog they did not know well live in the basement. Finn's anxieties changed so much in his elderly days, a new home might have been too much for him. But, I had to try. I learned a powerful lesson, allowing Kate to help me. And, the risk I took not knowing what could be in a new house paid off by giving me three whole months with my Lug.

Today, a year later; I could dwell on the fact that Finn is not here to enjoy his favorite time of year. Heck, every time of year was his favorite, but Finn got the biggest kick out of the crunchy leaves when we hiked in the Fall. Or, I could feel sorry for myself because today
also marks the anniversary of the end of the end with my Lug. But, I celebrate Kate today and will do so every year on October 8th. With a key to her basement, she gave and taught me so much. Because of Kate, I had:

  • Long strolls through Horner Park, he loved wandering up and down the hill there.
  • One last road trip to Ohio to chase geese and each as much leftover turkey as he wanted. At his age, Finn no longer had to steal my stepdad's sausage.
  • A quiet Christmas, filled with my own cooking and visits from friends.
  • Car rides to Gompers Park, Caldwell Woods, Eugene Field Park and treks through nearby forest preserves.
  • My birthday hike with Sheila, my Lug ate the snowman's arms and was so spirited, we played our race game and I did not have to pretend to run. I'm so happy Sheila took as much video as she did.
  • "I got my bone" shuffle down the hall almost everyday. Old dogs deserve to be spoiled. 
  • Snuggling on the couch, twice! It was so amazing for him to want to climb up onto the sofa.
  • OH MY GOD, happy dance, spindly leg race to greet me at the door every single time I came home.
  • After 13 years of preferring to "shake" with his left paw, Finn finally decided it would be worthwhile to give right "paw". He still liked to use his brain but senior joints can't do a whole lot, so I got creative.
  • So many belly rubs, massages, mornings on his dog bed laying nose to nose like no one else in the world existed. The sound of his happy grumble when I hit the right spot will always bring me joy.
  • One last TV appearance, Finn wanted nothing more than to kiss the cameraman and anchor.
  • A new friend, Bailey.
  • Countless kisses, laughs, loving moments and reminders that life is worth fighting for.
  • Eternal peace that I did everything I possibly could for him to have a happy, long life.

Thank you, Kate. You will forever be my angel on earth. And, Gavin loves you just as much as Finn always, always did!

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Nine Months Later

When I was a child and moaned about being bored; my father promised me that time soars much faster with age. Again and again, I am mystified that it has been a nine months since I stroked one of my Lug's favorite spots, right between his eyes. We laid nose to nose and I whispered, "I'm going to miss you so much". I found it impossible to utter "goodbye". The finality was too much to bear.

Outside of my sun room; in plain sight from the spot I practice yoga, there are two trees that I often focus my gaze during poses. In the past week, as the leaves have started to fall; the canopies of both trees have dramatically changed shape. Every time my eyes meet the two heart-shaped trees; I think of Finn and wonder if he is sending his love from a beautiful after-life; a world beyond my comprehension. Or perhaps they are just haphazard symbols I need and want to mean something so I can stay connected to my Lug. I have no clue what the answer is, but I know thinking of Finn watching over me from a better place gives me peace and doesn't hurt anyone.

In the words of Frank O' Connor from the book Healing After Loss, "All I know from my own experience is that the more loss we feel the more grateful we should be for whatever it was we had to lose. It means we had something worth grieving for. The ones I'm sorry for are the ones that go through life not even knowing what grief is".

I find this quote fascinating; now that January is further and further away, I try to hide my tears when random reminders of Finn sometimes sting. And, when a client I have not seen in ages asks me about Finn; I sniffle because I miss my Lug, not because of the kind inquiry; though every person expresses how terrible he or she feels about making me cry. And I don't want anyone to feel bad asking about Finn. What a shame it would be if I were unphased. There will always, always be a special place in my heart reserved for my Lug and all our memories. But, my ticker seems to have grown to allow space to adore the snuggle bug, delicate flower that is Gavin; it is very comforting when tears still sometimes strike.

Friends and family often describe Finn as "gentle" and an "old soul" but that was who Finn grew to be; not who he always was. I remember how happy I was when I discovered the nubbin inside his ears; my Lug barely sat still for any petting unless he was passed out from chasing tennis balls. Oh, Finn's eyes rolled back into his head as he clumsily leaned into my knuckle then knocked my hand onto the pillow with the weight of his head. I thought my Lug was telling me he was done with the massage but when I stopped, he popped his head up with his best "Damnit!" face. So, I smushed my hand back under his head watched it bob up and down as he relaxed; something that did not come naturally to Finn. As I think back to the hours I spent in the last couple of years massaging his old muscles; I acknowledge that those cherished quiet moments were well earned, on both our parts.

Gavin gives his affection so easily and when he meets any one of his many new daily friends, I no longer have to tell them that I just lost my Finn. I once needed the sympathy to survive. But now, when I see someone who asks about Finn, all I need is a hug. And, Lil' Big Head will happily jingle jangle to join.

Gavin and I are attending a big fundraiser tonight for the organization that saved his life; I can't wait to see how handsome he is in his sparkly red bow tie. No doubt Lil' Big Head will be the life of the party and will absolutely cherish all his admirers. I like giving Gavin what he needs and wants. A giant celebration around other dogs would have made Finn crazy. My Lug preferred being an only child and treasured being the center of my attention all the time while Lil' Big Head is completely content blending into the party.